1 

^.■^^ . 

/iA 

Poems. 

BY 

ALBERT    LAIGHTON. 

V 

BOSTON: 

A.     WILLIAMS     AND     CO. 

PORTSMOUTH,    N.H.  : 

MERCER     GOODRICH. 

1878.^ 

Copyright, 

By  Albert  I>aighton, 

1878. 


Cambridge : 
Press  of  yp/in    Wilson  &=  Son. 


TO   MY  COUSIN,    CELIA    THAXTER. 


/J  MONG  the  flozuers  of  song  I  offer  here, 

Sunned  with  my  smiles  and  wet  with  many  a  tear, 

Thy  name,  long  cherished,  like  a  flower  I  blend, 
O  more  to  me  than  friend ; 


Knowing  full  zvell  that  other  lips  will  say. 
Not  all  in  vain  these  blossoms  of  to-day. 
So  soon  to  fade  and  lose  their  faint  perfunes, 
For  here  an  amaranth  blooms  I 


^ 


4  X.*>^f^ 


CONTENTS. 


POEM  S. 

PAGE 

Dedication v 

My  Treasures ii 

Yesterday  and  To-day 15 

To  MY  Soul 17 

A  Dream 19 

A  Thought  of  Burns 20 

Zodiacal  Light 22 

To  H.  McE.  K 23 

The  Mystery 25 

New  England 26 

Found  Dead 28 

Edith 31 

My  Native  River 32 

Joe 34 


viu  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Wreck 37 

The  Necropolis 38 

The  Two  Worlds 40 

The  Missing  Ships 42 

A  Hymn  of  Confession 47 

Ebb  and  Flow 49 

The  Dead 51 

The  Chimes 53 

Ax  Invocation 54 

To  A  Bigot s^ 

Farragut 1% 

Memorial  Hymn 60 

Dedication  Ode 63 

The  Lengthening  Day 65 

The  First  Robin 66 

Under  the  Leaves GZ 

June 70 

The  Humming-bird 72 

The  Summer  Shower 'j'}, 

Fireflies 76 

Autumn 78 

In  the  Woods 79 

The  Winter  Rain 8r 

Frostwork 83 


CONTENTS,  IX 

PAGE 

The  Skaters 85 

A  Passing  Thought 88 

Hyacinths 89 

The  Birth  of  Light 91 

Beauty 95 

Ode  of  Welcome 11 1 


SONiNETS. 

To  T.  B.  A 119 

On  a  Lock  of  Farragut's  Hair 121 

Trailing  Arbutus 122 

After-Bloom 123 

Asleep 124 

To  J.  G.  W 125 


^^%r, 


POEMS, 


MY   TREASURES. 


O  titled  lands  are  mine, 
And  yet,  by  right  divine, 
A  heritage  I  claim  in  all  that  lies 
Beneath  the  skies. 
Whose  gold  can  buy  the  loveliness  of  morn, 

The  glory  of  the  day. 
The  sunset's  splendor,  or  the  beauty  born 
Of  night's  enchanting  hour  ? 

Or  take  away 
The  soul's  immortal  dower? 


12  Afy  TREASURES. 

These  are  m}-  happy  fields,  to  childhood  dear ; 

Mine  the  ancestral  trees  that  stand 
Lofty  and  grand 

Through  all  the  changing  year ; 

Here  are  my  woodlands  dim 
Where  the  arbutus  blossoms,  meek  and  pale, 

The  earliest  flower  to  bring 
Its  tribute  to  the  Spring. 

Here  my  Arcadia  fair,  my  Arno's  vale  ; 
Here  low  and  sweet, 

Or  wildly  when  the  tempests  beat. 
The  ocean  chants  for  me  its  solemn  hymn ; 

Here  at  my  feet. 
The  clear,  blue  waters  of  my  glorious  river 

Flow  on  unchecked  for  ever  ; 
While  far  away 

Beyond  the  winding  bay, 
Distinct  against  the  western  skies. 

My  cloud-kissed  mountains  rise. 


MY   TREASURES,  13 

I  seek  no  alien  sky  ; 

Here  all  my  treasures  lie, 
Far  from  the  ceaseless  tread  of  hurrying  feet. 

The  turbulence  that  fills 
The  city's  crowded  street. 

Sweeter  to  me  the  sea's  mysterious  rote, 
The  music  of  the  wind-swept  pine ; 

The  melody  divine 
That  warbles  in  the  wild-bird's  silver  throat, 

The  freedom  of  my  native  woods  and  hills  1 

O  wealth  that  knows  no  loss, 

O  gold  that  hath  no  dross  ; 
Why  should  I  ask  for  more  ? 

Why  swell  my  countless  store  ? 
Enough  for  me  to  dwell, 

'Mid  scenes  I  love  so  well  ; 
And,  whether  life  for  me  be  long  or  brief, 

Here  may  I  sink  away, 


14  MV  TREASURES. 

Into  the  sweet,  eternal  rest, 

As  peacefully  as  on  some  autumn  day, 
When  winds  are  hushed,  the  ripened  leaf 

Falls  on  Earth's  tender  breast. 


YESTERDA  Y  AND    TO-DA  Y. 


i; 


YESTERDAY    AND   TO-DAY. 


UT  of  the  sunshine  into  the  rain ; 
The  way  is  steep  and  I  walk  alone  ; 
I  call  aloud,  but  I  call  in  vain, 
Through  the  darkness  comes  no  answering  tone. 
I  have  dreamed  my  golden  dream,  alas  ! 
I  have  buried  my  hope  with  a  bitter  pain ;  — 
Is  it  weak  to  weep  when  we  sadly  pass 
Out  of  the  sunshine  into  the  rain  ? 


Into  the  sunshine,  out  of  the  rain  ; 

The  clouds  furl  off  and  the  sky  is  blue  : 

I  walk  in  the  beautiful  paths  again 

Where  my  song-birds  built,  and  my  roses  grew. 


1 6  YESTERDAY  AND    TO-DAY. 

O  the  new-born  glory  round  me  shed  ! 
O  the  voices  that  charm  like  a  sweet  refrain  ! 
Thank  God  for  the  hand  that  my  footsteps  led 
Into  the  sunshine,  out  of  the  rain ! 


TO  MY  SOUL.  17 


TO    MY    SOUL. 

UEST  from  a  holier  world, 
Oh,  tell  me  where  the  peaceful  valleys  lie  ? 
Dove  in  the  ark  of  life,  when  thou  shalt  fly, 
Where  will  thy  wings  be  furled  ? 


Where  is  thy  native  nest  ? 
Where  the  green  pastures  that  the  blessed  roam  ? 
Impatient  dweller  in  thy  clay-built  home. 

Where  is  thy  heavenly  rest  ? 

On  some  immortal  shore. 
Some  realm  away  from  earth  and  time,  I  know ; 
A  land  of  bloom,  where  living  waters  flow. 

And  grief  comes  nevermore. 


1 8  TO  MY  SOUL. 

Faith  turns  my  eyes  above ; 
Day  fills  with  floods  of  light  the  boundless  skies ; 
Night  watches  calmly  with  her  starry  eyes 

All  tremulous  with  love. 

And  as  entranced  I  gaze, 
Sweet  music  floats  to  me  from  distant  lyres  ; 
I  see  a  temple,  round  whose  golden  spires 

Unearthly  glory  plays  ! 

Beyond  those  azure  deeps 
I  fix  thy  home,  —  a  mansion  kept  for  thee 
Within  the  Father's  house,  whose  noiseless  key 

Kind  Death,  the  warder,  keeps  ! 


A    DREAM.  19 

A   DREAM. 

[From  the  Persian.] 

SAW  in  Hell,  by  scenes  of  horror  awed, 
A  being  that  a  noxious  creature  gnawed. 
Speechless  with  fear,  I  gazed,  but   wondered 
much 
Why  its  right  foot  the  monster  did  not  touch. 
Then  said  the  Angel  that  for  ever  waits 
Beside  its  wide  and  inward-opening  gates, 
"This  is  the  soul  of  him  who  lived  on  earth 
A  life  of  indolence  and  little  worth ; 
Many  his  sins,  and  few  his  works  of  love. 
But  one  day  Allah,  from  his  throne  above,  — 
By  whom  no  kindly  deed  is  e'er  forgot, — 
Beheld  him  with  this  foot  that  suffers  not. 
Cast  to  a  ploughing  ox  a  bunch  of  hay. 
And  something  of  his  torment  takes  away," 


A    THOUGHT  OF  BURNS. 


A   THOUGHT   OF   BURNS. 


JiARGE  was  his  heart,  and  deep  and  stron< 
The  human  love  within  it; 
As  free  and  musical  its  song 
As  wood-notes  of  the  linnet. 


No  touch  of  art  more  fresh  and  clear 
The  warbling  tones  could  render  ; 

No  paean  make  his  name  more  dear, 
His, memory  more  tender. 


He  sought  not  with  impatient  feet 
The  path  to  glory's  portal ; 

And  yet  his  simple  words  and  sweet 
Are  fame-lit  and  immortal. 


A    THOUGHT  OF  BURNS.  21 

His  "Highland  Mary"  still  shall  haunt 

The  dells  by  burn  and  river, 
And  "  Bonnie  Doon  "  as  sweetly  chant 

Love's  melody  for  ever. 

The  mountain  daisy  and  the  song 

His  plough  upturned  together, 
Shall  blossom  in  the  heart  as  long 

As  blooms  his  native  heather. 


^^H^^^ 


22  ZODIACAL    LIGHT, 


ZODIACAL    LIGHT. 

FTER  the  twilight  dies, 

In  the  distance  vague  and  dim, 
While  Hesperus  still  like  a  jewel  lies 
On  the  dark  horizon's  rim, 
There  is  born  a  strange  and  haunting  light,  — 
Is  it  a  ghost  at  the  gates  of  night  ? 

Or,  seen  as  it  glimmers  afar 

With  a  soft  and  mystical  ray, 
While  over  the  sea  the  Morning-star 

Lingers  to  kiss  the  Day, 
Is  it  the  smile  of  Aurora,  who  waits 
For  the  Dawn,  with  her  steeds,  at  the  rosy  gates  ? 


TO  H.  MCE.   K.  23 


IIP..VV 

M 


TO  H.  MCE.  K. 

FAR  in  Memory's  land  I  roamed  to-day, 

Through   fields    that    into    silence    stretched 


away ; 
And  lingered  where,  beneath  a  sky  of  blue, 
My  flowers  of  Friendship  grew. 

Ah,  some  had  faded  with  the  fading  years ; 
And  some  were  fresh  with  dew  that  seemed  like  tears  ; 
And  many  had  the  warm,  resplendent  glow 
Of  summers  long  ago. 

Some  were  as  pale  and  scentless  as  the  lily 
That  blooms  beside  my  window,  when  the  chilly 
Wind  of  November  at  the  casement  blows  ;  — 
And  one  was  like  a  rose  ! 


24 


TO  H.  MCE,  K. 


It  was  the  flower  you  gave  in  life's  glad  spring ; 
As  sweet  as  then  its  fragrant  blossoming ; 
Still  in  its  loveliness  to  bloom,  I  said, 
Though  all  the  rest  were  dead. 


THE  MYSTERY. 


25 


THE   MYSTERY. 


SAW  a  wonderful  light  — 
Watching  the  midnight  sky  — 
Leap  suddenly  into  the  voiceless  dark, 
And  as  suddenly  die. 


Was  it  a  golden  lance 

Into  the  silence  hurled 
By  the  Spirit  of  Air  ?     A  new-born  star, 

Or  the  wreck  of  a  world  ? 


26  NEW    ENGLAND. 


11 


NEW    ENGLAND. 

^HAT  though  they  boast  of  fairer  lands, 
Give  me  New  England's  hallowed  soil, 
The  fearless  hearts,  the  swarthy  hands 
Stamped  with  the  heraldry  of  toil. 


I  love  her  valleys  broad  and  fair, 

The  pathless  wood,  the  gleaming  lake, 

The  bold  and  rocky  bastions,  where 
The  billows  of  the  ocean  break  ; 

The  grandeur  of  each  mountain  peak 
That  lifts  to  heaven  its  granite  form, 

The  craggy  cliffs  where  eagles  shriek, 
Amid  the  thunder  and  the  storm. 


jVEJV   ENGLAND. 


27 


And  dear  to  me  each  noble  deed 

Wrought  by  the  iron  wills  of  yore,  — 

The  Pilgrim  hands  that  sowed  the  seed 
Of  freedom  on  her  sterile  shore. 


28  FOUND   DEAD. 


FOUND    DEAD, 

OUND  dead  !  dead  and  alone  ! 

There  was  nobody  near,  nobody  near 
When  the  Outcast  died  on  his  pillow  of  stone 
No  mother,  no  brother,  no  sister  dear. 
Not  a  friendly  voice  to  soothe  or  cheer, 
Not  a  watching  eye  or  a  pitying  tear,  — 
Oh,  the  city  slept  when  he  died  alone 
In  the  roofless  street,  on  a  pillow  of  stone. 

Many  a  weary  day  went  by. 

While  wretched  and  worn  he  begged  for  bread. 
Tired  of  life,  and  longing  to  lie 

Peacefully  down  with  the  silent  dead ; 


FOUND   DEAD.  29 

Hunger  and  cold,  and  scorn  and  pain, 
Had  wasted  his  form  and  seared  his  brain, 
Till  at  last  on  a  bed  of  frozen  ground, 
With  a  pillow  of  stone,  was  the  Outcast  found. 

Found  dead  !  dead  and  alone. 

On  a  pillow  of  stone  in  the  roofless  street ; 
Nobody  heard  his  last  faint  moan, 

Or  knew  when  his  sad  heart  ceased  to  beat ; 
No  mourner  lingered  with  tears  or  sighs, 
But  the  stars  looked  down  with  pitying  eyes, 
And  the  chill  winds  passed  with  a  wailing  sound 
O'er  the  lonely  spot  where  his  form  was  found. 

Found  dead  !  yet  not  alone  ; 

There  was  somebody  near,  —  somebody  near 
To  claim  the  wanderer  as  his  own, 

And  find  a  home  for  the  homeless  here  ; 


30  FOUND   DEAD, 

One,  when  every  human  door 
Is  closed  to  his  children,  scorned  and  poor, 
Who  opens  the  heavenly  portal  wide ; 
Ah,  God  was  near  when  the  Outcast  died. 


(k€m^ 


EDITH.  31 


EDITH. 


OU  came  to  our  hearts,  little  child, 
When  the  sere  leaves  were  falling ; 

And  the  skies  gave  no  welcome  to  thee, 
For  the  tempest  was  bitter  and  wild, 

And  we  heard  'mid  the  tumult  loud, 
And  the  roar  of  the  sullen  cloud, 
Like  a  A^oice  in  its  helplessness  calling, 
The  storm-driven  sea. 

Watch,  Angel  of  Peace,  by  the  bed 
Where  our  darling  reposes,  — 

For  she  came  on  the  saddest  of  morns, 
When  the  bloom  of  the  Summer  was  dead, 

And  the  winds  and  the  waves  were  at  strife. 
Guide  her  feet  in  the  pathway  of  Life, 
And  spare,  while  you  give  her  the  roses. 
The  pain  of  the  thorns. 


32 


A/Y  NATIVE    RIVER. 


MY    NATIVE    RIVER. 


IKE  an  azure  vein  from  the  heart  of  the  main, 
Pulsing  with  joy  for  ever, 
By  verdurous  Isles,  with  dimpled  smiles, 
Floweth  mv  native  river. 


Singing  a  song  as  it  flows  along, 
Hushed  by  the  Ice-king  never ; 

For  he  strives  in  vain  to  clasp  a  chain 
O'er  thy  fetterless  heart,  brave  river ! 


Singing  to  me  as  full  and  free 

As  it  sang  to  the  dusky  daughters, 

When  the  light  canoe  like  a  sea-bird  flew 
Over  its  peaceful  waters  ; 


MV  NATIVE   RIVER.  33 

Or  when  by  the  shore  of  Sagamore 
They  joined  in  their  mystic  dances; 

Where  the  lover's  vow  is  whispered  now, 
By  the  light  of  maiden  glances. 

Oh,  when  the  dart  shall  strike  my  heart, 

Speeding  from  Death's  full  quiver, 
May  I  close  my  eyes  where  smiling  skies 

Bend  o'er  my  native  river. 


r^i^n 


34  JOE. 


JOE. 

LL  day  long  with  a  vacant  stare, 
Alone  in  the  chilling  Autumn  air, 
With  naked  feet  he  wanders  slow 
Over  the  city,  —  the  idiot  Joe  ! 


I  often  marvel  why  he  was  born, 
A  child  of  humanity  thus  forlorn, 
Unloved,  unnoticed  by  all  below  ; 
A  cheerless  thing  is  the  life  of  Joe  ! 

Beauty  can  throw  no  spell  o'er  him  ; 
His  inner  vision  is  weak  and  dim  ; 
And  Nature  in  all  her  varied  show 
Weareth  no  charm  for  the  eyes  of  Joe. 


JOE.  35 

Earth  may  wake  at  the  kiss  of  Spring, 
Flowers  may  blossom  and  birds  may  sing ; 
With  joy  the  crystal  streams  may  flow; 
They  never  make  glad  the  heart  of  Joe. 

His  vague  and  wandering  thoughts  enfold 
No  dreams  of  glory,  no  schemes  for  gold  \ 
He  knows  not  the  blight  of  hopes,  yet,  oh, 
A  blighted  thing  is  the  life  of  Joe ! 

Who  would  not  suffer  the  ills  of  life, 
Its  numberless  wrongs,  its  sin  and  strife, 
And  willingly  bear  its  weight  of  woe, 
Rather  than  be  the  idiot  Joe  ? 

I  think  of  him  in  the  silent  night, 
When  every  star  seems  a  beacon  light, 
To  guide  us,  wanderers  here  below. 
To  the  better  land,  —  the  home  of  Joe. 


36 


JOE. 


For  He  who  hears  when  the  ravens  call, 
And  watches  even  the  sparrow's  fall,  — 
He,  in  his  measureless  love,  I  know, 
Will  kindly  care  for  the  soul  of  Joe. 


THE    WRECK.  17 


THE    WRECK. 

HE  Ocean  sang  to  my  heart  last  night, 
When  I  folded  my  hands  in  rest, 

A  tune  as  sweet  as  a  mother  sings 
To  the  child  upon  her  breast. 

But  to-day  it  wails  like  a  funeral  dirge 
As  they  tell,  in  the  quiet  town. 

How  the  English  ship  in  sight  of  land 
With  a  hundred  souls  went  down. 


38  THE  NECROPOLIS. 


THE    NECROPOLIS. 

HOUGH  the  sexton,  grim  and  old, 

Turns  the  mould. 

Damp  and  cold. 
In  the  churchyard,  for  the  bed 
Of  the  still  and  holy  dead ; 

Though  we  see  the  green  turf  prest 

On  each  breast 

Full  of  rest. 
Full  of  quiet,  sweet  and  deep, 
Yet  not  there  our  loved  ones  sleep. 

Oh,  the  graves  where  they  are  laid 

Sexton's  spade 

Never  made ! 
Nor  do  sculptured  tablets  tell 
That  within  the  heart  they  dwell  ; 


THE   NECROPOLIS, 


39 


Where  the  winter  winds,  we  know, 

Cannot  blow, 

And  the  snow 
Never  hides  the  flowers  that  grow, 
Fadeless,  from  the  dust  below. 


40  THE    TWO    WORLDS. 


THE  TWO   WORLDS. 

O  many  fond  ties  hold  us  here, 
So  much  hath  Earth  to  give, 

We  often  say,  with  thankful  hearts, 
'"Tis  sweet  to  live." 


So  many  are  the  treasures  lost. 

Heaven  only  can  restore, 
We  sometimes  think  't  were  better  far 

To  live  no  more. 

Two  lives  are  ours  ;  —  the  earthly  way 
Is  with  the  heavenly  blent;  — 

Between  two  worlds  that  share  our  love, 
Our  days  are  sjDcnt ; 


THE    TWO    WORLDS. 


41 


Scarce  caring,  when  Sleep's  Angel  comes 

Our  tired  eyes  to  kiss, 
If  our  awakenins:  morning;  be 

In  that  or  this. 


42 


THE  MISSING   SHIPS. 


THE    MISSING    SHIPS. 


THOU  ever  restless  sea, 
"  God's  half-uttered  mystery," 
Where  are  all  the  ships  that  sailed  so  gal- 
lantly away  ? 
Tell  us,  will  they  never  more 
Furl  their  wings  and  come  to  shore  ? 
Eyes  still  watch  and  fond  hearts  wait ;  precious  freight 
had  they. 


Precious  freight!  ay,  wealth  untold, 

More  than  merchandise  or  gold, 
Did  the  stately  vessels  bear  o'er  the  heaving  main  ; 

Human  souls  are  dearer  far 

Than  all  earthly  treasures  are, 
And  for  them  we  weep  and  pray ;  must  it  be  in  vain  ? 


THE   MISSING   SHIPS.  43 

In  the  silence  of  the  night, 

Did  they,  with  a  wild  affright, 
Wake  to  hear  the  cry  of  Fire  !  echo  to  the  stars  ? 

While  the  cruel,  snake-like  flame. 

Creeping,  coiling,  hissing  came 
O'er   the    deck,  and   up  the    mast,  and    out  along  the 
spars  ! 

As  the  doomed  ship  swayed  and  tossed 

Like  a  mighty  holocaust, 
Did  they  with  despairing  cries  leap  into  the  waves  ? 

Or  with  folded  hands,  and  eyes 

Lifted  to  the  peaceful  skies. 
Calmly   go   with    prayerful    hearts    to    their    nameless 
graves  ? 

Did  the  black  wings  of  the  blast 
Poise  and  hover  o'er  the  mast, 
Till  at  last  in  wrath  they  swept  o'er  the  crowded  deck  ? 


44  THE  MISSING   SHIPS. 

Leaving  not  a  soul  to  tell 
How  the  long  and  awful  swell 
Of  the  ocean's  troubled  breast  bore  a  dismal  wreck ; 


How  amid  the  thunder's  crash, 

And  the  lightning's  lurid  flash 
(Autograph    the     Storm-king   writes    on    his   scroll    of 
clouds), 

High  above  the  deafening  strife 

Piteous  cries  were  heard  for  life. 
Fear-struck  human  beings  seen  clinging  to  the  shrouds ! 


Or  with  shattered  hulk  and  sail, 

Riding  out  the  stormy  gale, 
Slowly  did  the  brave  ship  sink  deeper  day  and  night  ? 

Drifting,  drifting  wearily 

O'er  the  wide  and  trackless  sea, 
Loved  ones  starving,  dying  there  with  no  sail  in  sight. 


THE  MISSING  SHIPS.  45 

Or  when  winds  and  waves  were  hushed, 

While  each  cheek  with  joy  was  flushed, 
As  they  glided  gently  on,  hope  in  every  breast, 

With  a  sudden  leap  and  shock, 

Did  they  strike  some  hidden  rock, 
And  go  down,  for  ever  down  to  their  dreamless  rest  ? 

Did  the  strange  and  spectral  fleet 

Of  the  icebergs  round  them  meet, 
Pressing  closer  till  they  sank  crashing  to  the  deep  ? 

Do  these  crystal  mountains  loom, 

Monuments  of  that  vast  tomb, 
In  the  ocean's  quiet  depths  where  so  many  sleep  ? 

O  thou  ever-surging  sea, 
Vainly  do  we  question  thee  ; 
Thy   blue   waves    no    answer    bring   as   they   kiss    the 
strand ; 


46  THE  MISSING   SHIPS. 

But  we  know  each  coral  grave, 
Far  beneath  the  roUing  wave, 
Shall  at  last  give  up  its  dead,  touched  by  God's  own 
hand. 


A   HYMN  OF   CONFESSION. 


47 


A    HYMN    OF   CONFESSION. 

'*  But,  Lord,  the  violet,  bending  low, 
Seems  better  moved  to  praise  ; 
From  us,  what  scanty  blessings  flow. 
How  voiceless  close  our  days!  " 

James  T.  Fields. 

HE  homeless  winds  that  wander  o'er  the  land  ; 
The  deep-voiced  thunder  speaking  words   of 
fire  ; 

The  waves  that  break  in  sunshine  on  the  strand, 
Or  smite  with  storm-paled  hands  their  rocky  lyre  ; 


The  stars  that  blossom  in  the  fields  of  night ; 

The  buds  that  burst  in  beauty  from  the  sod  ; 
The  birds  that  dip  their  wings  in  rainbow  light,  — 

Are  notes  in  Nature's  symphony  to  God ! 


48  A   HYMN  OF  CONFESSION. 

But  as  Creation  s  anthem  onward  rolls, 
•    From  age  to  age,  in  grandeur  still  the  same, 
We  set  the  seal  of  Silence  on  our  souls, 
And  sing  no  praises  to  His  holy  name. 

Our  eyes  are  dazzled  by  the  glare  of  Life ; 

We  cannot  see  the  sapphire  deeps  above ; 
Our  ears  are  deafened  by  its  ceaseless  strife ; 

We  cannot  hear  the  angels'  songs  of  love. 

Dust  gathers  on  our  mantles  hour  by  hour ; 

We  trail  our  robes  in  low  and  sensual  things ; 
We  yield  our  heart-wealth  to  the  Tempter's  power, 

And  stain  the  whiteness  of  the  spirit's  wings. 

We  fling  the  priceless  pearl  of  Faith  away. 

And  count  as  treasure  Earth's  corroding  dross ; 

U'e  bow  to  idols  formed  of  fragile  clay, 

But  twine  few  garlands  for  the  Saviour's  cross. 


EBB  AND  FLOW.  49 


EBB   AND    FLOW. 

WANDERED  alone  beside  the  stream ; 

The  tide  was  out  and  the  sands  were  bare ; 
The  tremulous  tone  of  the  sea-bird's  scream 

Like  a  winged  arrow  pierced  the  air. 


I  roamed  till  the  sun  in  the  west  was  low, 
And  the  robes  of  twilight  trailed  in  the  sea ; 

The  waves  pulsed  in  with  a  rhythmical  flow, 
And  a  song  from  the  woodland  came  to  me. 

All  day  I  roam  by  the  stream  of  Song ; 

The  tide  is  out,  and  my  life  is  bare, 
While  shadows  of  evil  round  me  throns:. 

And  drearily  croaks  the  bird  of  Care. 


50  EBB   AND  FLOW. 

But  at  night  the  waves  roll  back  again, 

And  flow  in  music  over  my  heart, 
Till  the  dusky  phantoms  of  grief  and  pain 

From  the  charmed  shores  of  my  brain  depart. 


THE  DEAD.  5 1 


THE   DEAD. 

CANNOT  tell  you  if  the  dead, 
That  loved  us  fondly  when  on  earth, 
Walk  by  our  side,  sit  at  our  hearth, 
By  ties  of  old  affection  led ; 


Or,  looking  earnestly  within, 
Know  all  our  joys,  hear  all  our  sighs. 
And  watch  us  with  their  holy  eyes 

Whene'er  we  tread  the  paths  of  sin  ; 

Or  if  with  mystic  lore  and  sign. 
They  speak  to  us,  or  press  our  hand. 
And  strive  to  make  us  understand 

The  nearness  of  their  forms  divine. 


52  THE  DEAD. 

But  this  I  know,  —  in  many  dreams 
They  come  to  us  from  reahns  afar, 
And  leave  the  golden  gates  ajar. 

Through  which  immortal  glory  streams. 


THE   CHIMES.  53 


THE    CHIMES. 

GES  since,  men  heard  the  ringing 
Of  the  song-bells  gently  swinging 
In  the  starry  domes  of  thought ; 
Long  they  listened  to  the  chimes 
That  the  poet's  golden  rhymes 
Out  of  sweetest  fancies  wrought. 

Still  the  tuneful  bells  are  pealing, 
Waking  every  holy  feeling; 

Still  they  vibrate  in  the  past  j 
And  the  poet  of  to-day 
Hears  the  music  far  away, 

Clearer  than  a  clarion's  blast ! 


54  -4N  INVOCATION. 


AN    INVOCATION. 


ESTLESS  phantoms  haunt  my  brain  ! 
Come  and  ease  my  nameless  pain, 
Sleep  —  sweet  sleep. 
I  would  own  thy  gentle  power ; 
It  is  midnight's  holy  hour ; 
Wave  thy  charmed  wand  over  me, 
Let  thy  mantle  cover  me, 
Sleep  —  sweet  sleep  ! 

Clasp  me  in  thy  dusky  arms, 
Soothe  me  with  thy  mystic  balms. 

Sleep  —  sweet  sleep. 
Give  me  thy  Lethean  wine, 
Press  thy  dewy  lips  to  mine. 
Fold  my  hands  and  close  my  eyes. 
Bring  me  dreams  of  Paradise, 

Sleep  —  sweet  sleep. 


AN  INVOCATION. 


55 


Linger  with  me  till  the  morn, 
Leave  me  not  till  day  is  born, 

Sleep  —  sweet  sleep  ; 
Then  shall  gates  of  rosy  light 
Open  for  thy  silent  flight. 
Ah !  some  time  thou'lt  come,  I  know, 
To  my  heart,  and  7iever  go, 

Sleep  ■ —  sweet  sleep  ! 


56 


TO  A  BIGOT. 


TO    A    BIGOT. 


OU  strove  in  vain,  with  cunning  words, 
And  subtle  arguments,  to  gain 

A  convert  to  your  darling  creed  ; 
Then  mocked  me  with  your  cold  disdain. 


Ah,  well  —  sip  from  your  shallow  fount ; 

The  heart  hath  depths  you  may  not  know ; 
And  your  philosophy  would  fail, 

Did  you  but  judge  of  Nature  so. 


You  do  not  scorn  the  mountain  stream 
Because  it  floweth  wild  and  free 

In  hidden  channels  of  its  own. 

And  finds  at  last  its  home,  the  sea. 


TO  A  BIGOT.  57 

You  do  not  crush  the  wayside  flower 

Because  it  wears  a  different  hue 
From  that  which  decks  your  garden-walks, 

And  only  breathes  its  sweets  for  you. 

You  do  not  wound  the  forest  bird 

Because  your  caged  canary  sings 
A  sweeter  song  —  you  vainly  think  — 

Give  me  the  freedom  of  my  wings. 

Then  if  I  soar  beyond  your  flights, 

Or  if  I  keep  my  lowly  nest, 
What  matter,  since  I  am  content 

To  serve  my  God  as  seemeth  best  ? 


FA RR A  GUT. 


FARRAGUT. 

g^RAND  in  his  dreamless  sleep  our  Admiral  lies, 
The  brave  heart  still,   so    fondly  loved   and 
blest; 
The  light  gone  forth  from  those  projDhetic  eyes, 
The  guiding  hand  at  rest. 


one 


His  star  in  glory  set  —  his  great  work  d 
Muffle  the  drum,  and  toll  the  solemn  bell ; 

And  let  the  deep  voice  of  the  minute-gun 
A  people's  sorrow  tell. 

A  friend  who  failed  not  in  the  darkest  hour; 

A  valiant  soul  who  at  his  Country's  call 
Battled  with  Treason  born  of  hate  and  power. 

And  triumphed  over  all. 


FARRAGUT. 

One  noble  life  the  less  for  Heaven  to  take ; 

One  hero  more  passed  from  this  land  of  ours  ;  — 
Lay  fairest  garlands  on  his  bier,  and  make 

Death  beautiful  with  flowers. 

A  Nation's  heart  shall  be  his  funeral  urn, 
While  time  shall  add  new  lustre  to  his  fame  j 

And  Freedom's  fires  with  holier  light  shall  burn, 
Where'er  is  breathed  his  name. 


59 


6o 


MEMORIAL    HYMN. 


MEMORIAL   HYMN. 


O  tread  of  armed  men  ; 
No  lightning-flash,  and  then 
The  thunder's  roar ! 
No  life-blood  ebbing  fast ; 
No  bugle's  rallying  blast ; 
The  wild,  sad  days  are  past ; 
Peace  smiles  once  more. 


Above  our  martyrs'  graves, 
Unharmed  the  banner  waves, 

Fair  as  of  yore  ;  — 
O  liberty's  glad  sign  ! 
Rayed  with  a  light  divine, 
In  starry  splendor  shine 

For  evermore. 


MEMORIAL    HYMN.  6l 

What  fields  they  lost  or  won  ; 
What  daring  deeds  were  done, 

Let  Valor  tell. 
True  Freedom  to  secure, 
For  Justice  firm  and  sure, 
For  Right  that  shall  endure. 

Our  heroes  fell. 

By  each  green  mound  to-day, 
Your  grateful  homage  pay, 

O  Land  of  ours  ! 
There,  loyal  hearts  and  true. 
Your  sacred  vows  renew 
In  Freedom's  name,  and  strew 

The  sweet  Spring  flowers. 

Theirs  is  the  wreath  of  Fame ; 
The  victors'  storied  name 
Time  cannot  stain  ; 


62  MEMORIAL    HYMN. 

Ours  is  the  nobler  Land ; 
The  Nation  strong  and  grand, 
The  Union's  broken  band 
Made  whole  again. 

Thou  Giver  of  all  good, 
KeejD  us  one  brotherhood 

From  North  to  South  ! 
Dear  Lord  !  in  days  to  come 
Hushed  be  the  battle-drum  ; 
Sheathed  be  the  sword,  and  dumb 

The  cannon's  mouth. 


DEDICA  TION  ODE.  6^ 


DEDICATION    ODE. 

FATHER,  as  in  days  of  old, 

\"\1ien  men  knew  not  thy  wondrous  love, 
And  bowed  to  gods  of  wood  and  gold, 
Thou  rulest  on  thy  throne  above ; 
Thou  art  the  same  unchanging  Friend, 
And  thy  almighty  arms  defend. 


Thy  hand  still  guides  each  rolling  world, 
And  stays  the  tempest's  awful  wrath, 

And  on  the  bannered  clouds  unfurled 
Marks  out  the  lightning's  lurid  path ; 

It  weighs  the  mountains,  holds  the  sea. 

And  stretches  through  Infinity. 


64  DEDICATION  ODE. 

Ah,  little  human  hands  can  do 

When  measured  by  the  matchless  power 

That  raised  the  hills,  and  arched  the  blue 
Wide  heavens  that  bless  us  every  hour ; 

That  made  our  frames,  sustains  our  lives, 

And  through  all  earthly  change  survives. 

Yet,  Lord,  we  offer  to  thee  now 

This  temple  built  on  hallowed  ground ; 

Oh,  bless  its  walls !  for  w^hile  we  bow. 
The  sainted  dead  seem  lingering  round, 

As  if  with  us  they  hither  came. 

To  own  this  tribute  to  thy  name. 


4 


THE   LENGTHENING    DAY. 


65 


THE   LENGTHENING    DAY. 


HE  days  are  growing  longer  now; 
On  yonder  elm-tree's  topmost  bough, 
On  the  gilded  cross  that  crowns  the  spire, 
More  slowly  burns  the  sunset's  fire ; 


And  at  my  window,  day  by  day, 
I  later  wait  to  see  the  ray 
Of  the  evening  star  in  glory  shine 
Above  yon  dim  and  lonely  pine. 


e^^^^ 


66 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN. 


THE   FIRST    ROBIN. 


ROBIN,  tell  it  far  and  wide 
On  many  a  leafless  spray, 

Last  night  the  sullen  Winter  died, 
And  Spring  was  born  to-day  ! 


Pour  forth  the  gladness  of  thy  breast 
In  music  clear  and  strong. 

And  fill  again  each  empty  nest 
With  echoes  of  thy  song. 


Tell  that  the  prisoned  woodland  stream 

Its  fetter  soon  will  break  ; 
And  from  its  long  and  frozen  dream 

The  violet  awake. 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN.  6/ 

Tell  that  the  zephyrs  soft  and  warm 

Will  kiss  the  budding  trees, 
The  maple's  garnet  blossoms  swarm 

Like  myriads  of  bees, 

By  moss-clad  walls  the  columbine 

Uplift  its  scarlet  bloom, 
By  grassy  paths  the  eglantine 

Exhale  its  sweet  perfume. 

O  robin,  tell  it  in  thy  song 

Of  joy,  this  sunny  morn. 
And  bid  the  hearts  that  waited  long 

Rejoice,  for  Spring  is  born  ! 


68 


UNDER    THE  LEAVES. 


UNDER   THE   LEAVES. 


FT  have  I  walked  these  woodland  paths 
In  sadness,  not  foreknowing 
That  underneath  the  withered  leaves 
The  flowers  of  spring  were  growing. 


To-day  the  winds  have  swept  away 
Those  wrecks  of  autumn's  splendor ; 

And  here  the  sweet  Arbutus-flowers 
Are  springing  fresh  and  tender. 


O  prophet  flowers  !  with  lips  of  bloom 
Surpassing,  in  their  beauty, 

The  pearly  tints  of  ocean  shells, — 
Ye  teach  me  faith  and  duty. 


UNDER    THE  LEAVES.  69 

Walk  life's  dark  ways,  ye  seem  to  say, 

In  love  and  ho^De,  foreknowing 
That,  where  man  sees  but  withered  leaves, 

God  sees  the  fair  flowers  growing. 


70  JUNE. 


JUNE. 

GAIN  the  Summer's  golden  prime 
The  wealth  of  June  discloses ; 
Heaven  wears  its  fairest  robe  of  blue, 
And  Earth  its  crown  of  roses. 

The  wild  bird  sings  its  sweetest  tune, 
The  softest  airs  are  blowing ; 

The  very  heart  of  Nature  seems 
With  gladness  overflowing. 

Dear  Lord,  shall  human  lips  be  mute, 
No  voice  with  Nature  blending  ? 

No  breath  of  prayer  or  hymn  of  praise 
From  thankful  hearts  ascending  ? 


JUNE.  -  71 

Oh,  then  in  vain  the  Summer's  prime 

The  wealth  of  June  discloses ; 
And  Heaven  its  robe  of  gloiy  wears, 

And  Earth  its  crown  of  roses  ! 


72 


THE  HUMMING-BIRD. 


THE    HUMMING-BIRD. 


JEWEL  on  the  bosom  of  the  air, 

More  exquisite  than  any  queen  may  wear ; 
With    tremulous    beauty    caught    from    sunset 

skies, 
And  dropped  one  summer  morn  from  Paradise. 


THE   SUMMER  SHOWER.  73 


THE    SUMMER    SHOWER. 

WHITE  haze  glimmered  on  the  hills, 
The  vales  were  parched  and  dry, 

And  glaringly  the  burning  sun 
Coursed  in  the  summer  sky. 


The  cattle,  in  the  distant  woods. 
Sought  shelter  from  its  beams. 

Or,  motionless  and  patient  stood, 
Knee-deep,  amid  the  streams. 

The  house-dog  lay  with  panting  breath 
Close  where  the  elm-trees  grew ; 

The  bluebird  and  the  oriole 
To  shady  coverts  flew. 


74  .    THE   SUMMER  SHOWER. 

Day  after  clay  the  thirsty  earth 
Looked  up  to  heaven  for  rain  ; 

The  gardens  held  their  flower- cups, 
The  fields  their  lips  of  grain. 

With  doubting  hearts,  men,  murmuring,  said, 
"  Our  toils  have  been  in  vain  ; 

We  sowed  in  spring,  but  shall  not  reap 
When  autumn  comes  again." 

But  while  they  spoke,  within  the  west, 

At  sunset's  glowing  hour, 
God's  voice  proclaimed  in  thunder  tones 

The  coming  of  the  shower ! 

The  deepening  shadows  slowly  crept 
O'er  mountain  and  o'er  plain, 

Until  in  cool  and  copious  floods 
Came  down  the  blessed  rain. 


THE   SUMMER  SHOWER. 


75 


All  nature  smiled  ;  and  when  at  last 
The  cloudy  wings  were  furled, 

The  evening  star  shone  regally 
Above  a  thankful  world. 

O  love  of  Heaven !     O  fear  of  man  ! 

O  faith  so  cold  and  dim  ! 
When  shall  we  own  the  ways  of  God, 

And  learn  to  trust  in  him  ? 


76  FIREFLIES, 


FIREFLIES. 


OME  forth,  beloved,  to  the  night 


What  though  no  stars  are  in  the  skies 
Enough  for  me  the  loving  light 

That  lives  within  your  gentle  eyes. 


We  '11  sit  together  in  the  dark, 

Beside  the  meadows  cool  and  damp, 

And  watch  the  fireflies  by  the  spark 
That  glimmers  from  each  tiny  lamp. 

What  happy,  happy  lives  they  pass  ! 

What  elfin  dances  by  its  ray ! 
What  pleasures  in  the  dewy  grass, 

That  vanish  with  the  light  of  day ! 


FIREFLIES.  77 

They  haunt  this  fragrant  summer  air, 
While  every  thing  around  us  seems 

To  rest  beneath  the  wings  of  prayer, 
And  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  dreams. 

Come  forth  !  peace  falls  upon  my  breast, 

Like  dews  descending  to  the  sod ; 
As  if  the  arms  of  Nature  prest 

Me  closer  to  the  heart  of  God. 


^t^S^ 


7S 


A  UTUMN 


^Jt^%. 


AUTUMN. 

HE  world  puts  on  its  robes  of  glory  now; 

The   very  flowers   are    tinged   with   deeper 
dyes ; 
The  waves  are  bluer,  and  the  angels  pitch 

Their  shining  tents  along  the  sunset  skies. 


The  distant  hills  are  crowned  with  purple  mist ; 

The  days  are  mellow,  and  the  long,  calm  nights, 
To  wondering  eyes,  like  weird  magicians  show 

The  shifting  splendors  of  the  Northern  Lights. 


The  generous  Earth  spreads  out  her  fruitful  stores, 
And  all  the  fields  are  thick  with  ripened  sheaves  ; 

While  in  the  woods,  at  Autumn's  rustling  step. 

The  maples  blush  through  all  their  trembling  leaves. 


IN    THE    WOODS.  79 


IN   THE   WOODS. 

WALKED  alone  in  depths  of  autumn  woods  ; 

The  ruthless  winds  had  left  the  maple  bare  j 
The  fern  was  withered,  and  the  sweetbrier's 
breath 

No  longer  gave  its  fragrance  to  the  air. 


The  barberry  strung  its  coral  beads  no  more ; 

The  thistle-down  on  gauzy  wings  had  flown  ; 
And  myriad  leaves,  on  which  the  Summer  wrote 

Her  blushing  farewells,  at  my  feet  were  strown. 

A  loneliness  pervaded  every  spot ; 

A  gloom  of  which  my  musing  soul  partook  ; 
All  Nature  mourns,  I  said ;  November  wild 

Hath  torn  the  fairest  pages  from  her  book. 


8o  IN    THE    WOODS. 

But  suddenly  a  wild  bird  overhead 

Poured  forth  a  note  so  strangely  clear  and  sweet, 
It  seemed  to  bring  me  back  the  skies  of  May, 

And  wake  the  sleeping  violets  at  my  feet. 

Then  long  I  pondered  o'er  the  poet's  words, 
"  The  loss  of  beauty  is  not  always  loss," 

Till  like  the  voice  of  love  they  soothed  my  pain, 
And  gave  me  strength  to  bear  again  my  cross. 

O  murmuring  heart!  thy  pleasures  may  decay, 

Thy  faith  grow  cold,  thy  golden  dreams  take  wing ; 

Still  in  the  realm  of  faded  youth  and  joy, 

Heaven  kindly  leaves  some  bird  of  hope  to  sing. 


THE    WINTER  RAIN.  8 1 


THE   WINTER   RAIN. 

WEARIED  of  the  stormy  hours, 
And  shaped  my  song  to  murmuring  words; 
I  longed  to  hear  the  song  of  birds 
And  watch  the  bloom  of  woodland  flowers. 


O  waiting  heart,  no  more  complain ; 

The  shadows  fly,  the  morning  breaks ; 

And,  with  a  touch  of  light,  God  makes 
A  glory  of  the  winter  rain ! 

Where  icy  splendors  flash  and  gleam 
In  forest  depths,  alone  I  stand  : 
I  seem  to  dwell  in  fairy-land, 

And,  wondering,  gaze  as  in  a  dream. 
6- 


THE    WINTER   RAIN. 

Here  is  the  ruby's  sunset  dye, 

The  opal's  blush,  the  diamond's  flame ; 

And  jewels  rare  of  every  name, 
Thick  as  the  stars  in  midnight  sky. 

No  kingly  crown  is  half  so  fair 

As  that  which  decks  the  pine-tree's  crest ; 

No  gems  e'er  shone  on  Beauty's  breast 
Like  those  the  oak  and  maple  wear. 

The  common  path  —  in  childhood  known  — 
Transfigured  now  before  me  lies,  — 
A  way  that  leads  to  Paradise  ; 

An  aisle  with  shattered  rainbows  strown ! 


"^ 


FROST-WORK.  83 


FROST-WORK. 

HEY  are  the  ghosts  of  flowers, 
The  blossoms  of  fairer  hours, 

I  see  on  the  window-pane  ! 
They  died  in  woodland  and  heather, 
But  lo  !  in  this  wintry  weather, 

Their  petals  unfold  again. 


O  rare  and  wonderful  flowers 

That  bloom  in  these  crystal  bowers ! 

How  their  splendors  glance  and  gleam  ! 
How  thev  o-jow  where  the  silver  sed^^e 
Fringes  the  rivulet's  edge. 

And  flush  in  the  mornino-'s  beam ! 


84  FROST-WORK, 

Arbutus  and  Eglantine; 
The  bell  of  the  Columbine, 

Poised  on  its  stately  stem  ; 
Aster  and  Fleur-de-lis ; 
Wind-kissed  Anemone, 

And  the  Star  of  Bethlehem ! 

These,  and  a  numberless  train, 
I  trace  on  the  frosty  pane,  — 

Are  they  pictures  of  the  brain  ? 
Ah,  no  !  they  are  exquisite  flowers, 
The  phantoms  of  sunnier  hours, 

That  blossom  in  beauty  again. 


THE    SKATERS.  85 


THE   SKATERS. 

HOUGH  winter  winds  are  whistling  loud, 
And  skies  are  cold  and  gray, 
Though  earth  lies  mute  beneath  her  shroud, 
The  skaters !  what  care  they  ? 
A  happy  throng, 
With  mirth  and  song, 
O'er  fields  of  ice  they  swiftly  glide. 
As  sea-birds  sail  above  the  tide. 

Oh,  W'cll  they  know  the  winter  hours 

Fly  faster  as  they  sing,  — 
That  sooner  come  the  birds  and  flowers 

And  loveliness  of  Spring; 


86  THE    SKATERS. 

So,  night  or  day, 

Away !   away ! 
O'er  crystal  plains,  with  mirth  and  song, 
They  speed,  they  speed  like  the  wind  along ! 

The  heated  room,  the  crowded  hall, 

Where  pride  and  fashion  meet, 
While  waves  of  music  rise  and  fall 
In  time  to  dancing  feet, — • 
They  seek  not  these  ; 
For  them  the  breeze. 
And  the  gleaming  floor  o'er  which  they  go 
Like  arrows  shot  from  the  hunter's  bow. 

Then  loud  the  stormy  winds  may  blow, 

And  skies  be  cold  and  gray  ; 
Then  earth  may  wear  its  robe  of  snow,  — 

They  laugh  the  hours  away  ! 


THE    SKATERS. 


87 


With  mirth  and  song, 

A  merry  throng, 
O'er  fields  of  ice  they  swiftly  glide, 
As  sea-birds  sail  above  the  tide. 


88 


A   PASSING   THOUGHT. 


A   PASSING   THOUGHT. 


HE  violets  are  dead, 
And  faded  is  the  rose ; 
The  autumn  leaves  are  shed ; 

High  drift  the  winter  snows, 

And  no  flower  blows. 


Oh,  why  complain,  sad  soul  ? 
Life  may  be  verdure-crowned, 
Howe'er  the  seasons  roll ; 
And  Love's  sweet  flower  be  found 
The  whole  year  round. 


HYACINTHS.  89 


HYACINTHS. 


^^J|HERE  is  frost  on  the  window-pane  ; 


There  's  a  mantle  of  snow,  Hke  a  shroud 
On  the  cold  and  lifeless  plain  ; 

The  throat  of  the  flying  cloud 

Pipes  shrill  through  the  branches  bare;  — 

But  a  dream  of  the  Summer  comes  to  me, 

When  I  breathe  the  odor  rare 

That  floats  through  the  heated  room 

From  the  hyacinth's  clustered  bloom. 

Last  night  I  saw  the  full-orbed  moon, 

With  a  radiance  deep  and  tender, 

Between  the  elm-tree's  dewy  leaves 

Filter  its  liquid  splendor. 

To-day  there  are  birds  on  every  tree; 


90  HYACINTHS. 

Swallows  twdtter  about  the  eaves  ; 
The  emerald  fields  with  clover  flush  ; 
The  lilies  pale  and  the  roses  blush, 
Fresh  from  the  heart  of  June. 
White  as  the  foam  of  the  sea; 
Blue  as  its  countless  waves ; 
Purple  as  delicate  mosses  that  hide 
In  its  dim,  unfathomed  caves 
Where  the  Spirit  of  Silence  dwells ; 
Red  as  the  leaf  of  the  dulse  that  sways 
In  the  swift  and  dimpling  tide, 
Like  the  folds  of  a  pennon  fair 
In  the  eddying  tides  of  air ; 
Pink  as  the  whispering  lips  of  its  shells,  - 
Are  the  magical  flowers  that  bring  to  me 
The  warmth  of  the  vanished  days. 


THE  BIRTH   OF   LIGHT  9^ 


THE   BIRTH   OF   LIGHT. 


HE  earth  was  without  form  and  void ;  the  deep 
Wore  on  its  face  a  pall  of  death-like  gloom. 
A  secret  spark  kindled  by  Breath  Divine, 
Hid  in  the  bosom  of  primeval  dark, 
I,  in  unconscious  consciousness,  did  wait 
The  Word  omnipotent  to  give  me  birth. 
Upon  the  waters  moved  the  Spirit  of  God  : 
"  Let  there  be  light,"  proclaimed  the  Almighty  voice, 
And  forth  I  sprang,  the  glad,  immortal  Day ; 
The  child  of  God  and  of  mysterious  Night. 

Swift  as  I  sprang,  the  pall  of  gloom  was  rent, 
And  farthest  space  grew  radiant  with  amaze, 
And  the  new  world  afloat  in  splendor  lay. 
O'er  me  anon  Heaven's  azure  dome  was  arched ; 


92  THE  BIRTH  OF  LIGHT. 

The  waters  were  divided  ;  and  tlie  Earth, 
Obedient  to  the  Voice  commanding  all, 
Put  on  a  robe  of  verdure  and  of  bloom. 
Still  grew  Creation's  miracle ;  the  sea 
Swelled  wave  on  wave  and  sang  exultingly 
Melodious  anthems  to  the  listening  shores, 
While  in  its  hidden,  never-sounded  depth 
The  pulse  of  life  began  to  leap  and  throb. 
Then  living  creatures  swarmed  the  fruitful  land  ; 
And  last  of  all  (the  best  and  crowning  act) 
From  out  the  dust  of  earth  God  fashioned  Man, 
And  in  his  nostrils  breathed  the  breath  of  life, 
And  he  became  a  living  soul,  and  bore 
Within  the  image  of  the  Face  Divine. 
For  him,  this  kingly  creature,  was  I  born  ; 
Each  step  to  show,  each  spot  illuminate. 
And  ever  to  nourish,  quicken,  and  sustain 
His  being  from  my  glowing  heart,  the  Sun, 
And  yet  he  changes,  —  he,  creation's  lord  ; 


THE  BIRTH   OF  LIGHT.  93 

And  I  change  not,  —  I,  the  immortal  Day  ! 
King  of  the  starry  hosts. 

The  muffled  tread 
Of  centuries  in  their  solemn  march  awakes 
In  me  no  saddening  thoughts  of  age  or  death  ; 
Earth's  thronging  shades  my  lustre  cannot  dim  ; 
Though  I  have  seen  proud  empires  rise  and  fall ; 
Though  cities,  great  in  their  magnificence, 
Have  sunk  in  earth  and  vanished  from  my  gaze, 
And  nought  but  crumbling  ruins  mark  their  graves  ; 
Though  Time's  worn  trophies  thick  around  me  lie, 
Its  blight  falls  not  on  me  ;  I  ever  wear 
The  same  unchanging  flush  of  morning  bloom. 

I  am  impartial  as  the  air  or  dew ; 
My  blessing  falls  on  all ;  the  rich  man's  gold 
Buys  not  my  favoring  smile  ;  I  have  no  frown 
For  poverty ;  no  kindlier  falls  my  glance 
On  palace  walls  than  on  the  beggar's  hut. 


94  THE  BIRTH  OF  LIGHT. 

I  tread  where  mortal  footstep  never  dares  ; 

I  kiss  the  mountain-tops,  whose  hoar}^  heads 

For  ever  w^ear  a  veil  of  clouds  ;  I  creep 

With  shining  feet  down  deep  ravines,  and  chase 

The  brooding  shadows  into  viewless  air. 

But  ah  !  the  grave  —  my  glances  reach  not  there  ; 

Though  with  my  sunbeam  fingers  I  may  strew 

Its  sod  above  with  flowers,  I  shed  no  bloom 

Within  ;  God's  eye  alone  can  pierce  its  depths. 

And  thou,  O  man  !  through  Him  alone  mayst  hope 

To  read  its  silent,  awful  mvsteries. 


BE  A  UTY. 


95 


BEAUTY.i 

SING  of  Beauty  !  not  of  that  which  hes 
Before  me  now,  that  gleams  in  woman's  eyes 
And    bhishes    on    her  cheek,  —  that  were  a 
theme 
To  fill  the  measure  of  a  poet's  dream  ! 
Not  of  the  matchless  tints  that  painters  give, 
The  pictures  of  old  masters,  that  yet  live. 
Kept  sacred  from  the  wrecks  and  spoils  of  Time ; 
Claude's  perfect  sunsets,  Raphael's  shapes  sublime, 
Correggio's  landscapes,  and  madonnas  fair. 
With  soul-entrancing  eyes  and  shining  hair  ; 
Not  of  the  cold,  calm  loveliness  that  lies 
In  marble  forms,  that  stand  before  our  eyes 
The  white  ideals  of  the  sculptor's  brain ; 

'  Extracts  from  a  poem  delivered  before  the  United  Literary  Societies 
at  Bowdoin  College. 


96  BE  A  UTY. 

Not  of  the  triumphs  won  in  Art's  domain, 

But    of    that    beauty    stamped    with     Heaven's     own 

seal, 
That  angels  blessed,  and  day  and  night  reveal, 
That  like  a  living  presence  fills  the  skies. 
And  everywhere  around  our  pathway  lies. 
When  into  darkness  God  stretched  forth  his  hand, 
And  out  of  chaos,  at  his  high  command. 
This  lower  world  in  perfect  order  stood, 
Arrayed  in  robes  of  light,  and  "  all  was  good," 
With  shouts  of  joy  the  heavenly  arches  rang, 
And  all  the  morning  stars  together  sang. 
Shall  man  not  join  the  strain,  immortal  man. 
For  whom  He  formed  this  fair  and  wondrous  plan  ? 
Shall  Nature  sing  and  he  alone  be  mute. 
And  show  no  nobler  passion  than  the  brute  ? 

How  many  varied  scenes  this  world  displays 
To  fill  the  heart  with  joy,  the  lips  with  praise  ! 


BEA  UTY.  ,  97 

Go  where  we  may  and  Beauty  follows  too, 
With  radiant  smiles,  and  shapes  for  ever  new. 
She  haunts  the  spring  beneath  a  fairy's  guise. 
With  unbound  golden  hair  and  azure  eyes; 
A  wreath  of  violets  in  each  dainty  hand, 
And  round  her  sunny  brow  an  emerald  band ; 
While  all  day  long  she  strays  o'er  hill  and  glen, 
'J'hrough  leafy  bowers,  amid  the  homes  of  men  ; 
And  when  night  falls,  from  out  the  echoing  dells, 
The  lilies  ring  for  her  their  crystal  bells. 
And  in  the  forest's  depths  she  dreams  till  morn, 
Waked  by  the  music  of  the  wild-bee's  horn. 

She  reigns  a  queen  in  Summer ;  on  a  throne 
Of  amethyst,  with  full-blown  roses  strown 
About  her  feet,  she  sits  in  regal  state  ; 
Millions  of  tiny  beings  on  her  wait, 
With  shining  wings,  and  ever  to  her  praise 
With  happy  hearts  sing  their  melodious  lays. 


98  BE  A  UTY. 

She  comes  to  Autumn,  an  enchantress  rare, 

With  traihng  robes  of  gold  ;  and,  as  in  air 

She  waves  her  crimson  wand,  the  ripened  sheaves 

Gather  with  rustling  banners ;  on  the  leaves 

A  rain  of  glory  falls ;  and  in  the  skies 

Cloud  pictures  rise  at  sunset,  tinged  with  dyes 

That  Heaven  alone  displays  to  mortal  eyes  : 

Calm  lakes  of  amber  gemmed  with  purple  isles ; 

Gold-crested  mountains,  through  whose  long  defiles 

We  seem  to  see  the  angels  come  and  go 

W^Ith  harps  of  light,  and  white  wings  waving  slow. 

She  roams  an  artist  o'er  the  winter  world, 

Whose  pencil  fair,  with  frozen  dews  impearled. 

Paints  fairy  pictures  on  the  window-panes ; 

Of  time-worn  castles,  groves,  and  towering  fanes  ; 

Of  grottoes  overarched  by  blossoming  trees. 

And  stately  ships  becalmed  in  silver  seas; 

Of  chasms  deep,  by  cobweb  bridges  spanned, 

That  lead  to  mountains  bright  with  pearly  sand. 


BEAUTY.  99 

Whose  crystal  peaks,  touched  by  the  morning  sun, 
In  silence  fall,  and  vanish  one  by  one. 

Climb  earth's  most  holy  fanes,  the  mountain  peaks, 

And  there  her  siren  voice  sublimely  speaks  ; 

Stand  on  some  rocky  strand  that  ocean  laves. 

And  watch  the  long  procession  of  the  waves, 

As  one  by  one  along  their  sapphire  way. 

With  measured  step  they  come  with  wreaths  of  spray  ; 

Or  mark  the  Storm-king  as  with  deafening  roar 

He  hunts  the  billows  thundering  to  the  shore  ! 

Or  go  in  fancy  to  the  mystic  deeps 

That  plummet  never  reached,  where  Silence  keeps 

Eternal  watch  \  roam  through  the  fairy  bowers 

Festooned  with  mosses,  —  those  perennial  flowers 

That  blossom  in  the  jDcaceful  gardens  there, 

And  Naiads  twine  amid  their  flowing  hair,  — 

Or  stoop  and  take  the  wreathed  shell  that  lies 

Close  at  thy  feet;  behold  its  splendid  dyes. 


100  BEAUTY. 

That  Heaven's  own  bow  of  light  ahiiost  ecHpse  ; 

List  to  the  whisperings  of  its  parted  hps, 

As  if  some  happy  spirit  of  the  sea 

Filled  all  its  pearly  halls  with  melod}', — 

And  tell  me,  did  not  Beauty  walk  with  thee  ? 

Let  Dryads  lead  thee  through  the  shrouded  wood, 

Beside  their  s}lvan  haunts,  where  Solitude 

Sits  crowned  with  wild-flowers  ;  tread  the  long,  hushed 

aisles. 
Across  whose  emerald  floors  the  sunlight  smiles 
Like  God's  own  blessing ;  and  if  there  thy  breast, 
That  vainly  sighed  for  some  sweet  dream  of  rest. 
Forgets  its  care,  and  shadows  leave  thy  brain. 
Know  that  the  hand  of  Beauty  soothed  thy  pain. 

Leave  the  vast  city  with  its  noisy  crowds. 
And  watch  the  quiet  glory  of  the  clouds ; 
Golden  at  dawn_,  palHd  as  ghosts  at  noon, 
Gorgeous  at  evening,  drifting  by  the  moon 


BEAUTY.  lOI 

Like  iceber2:s  in  a  sea  of  mistv  li^fht, 
Silent  and  calm,  and  piloted  by  Night. 
Go  forth  when  Morning  with  its  key  of  light 
Unlocks  the  dusky  portals  of  the  night. 
And  watch  the  Day-king,  throned  in  majesty, 
Trace  out  a  shining  pathway  o'er  the  sea, 
While  startled  shadows  from  the  mountains  flee, 
And  radiant  floods  pour  down  upon  the  plain, 
And  Earth  looks  up  to  bless  his  cheering  reign. 

Or  lift  to  Heaven,  at  night,  thy  wondering  eyes, 

And  read  the  starry  language  of  the  skies ; 

See  Cassiopea  in  her  regal  chair. 

The  golden  trail  of  Berenice's  Hair ; 

The  Northern  Crown,  whose  jewels  far  outshine 

All  earthly  gems,  and  gleam  with  light  divine ; 

The  Pleiades,  and  Lyra's  shining  strings  ; 

The  Silver  Swan,  the  Dove  with  outspread  wings  ; 

The  Twins,  that  tread  their  path  with  one  desire, 


I02  BEAUTY. 


And  great  Orion  with  his  belt  of  fire  ! 


Or  turn  from  these  and  watch  the  Northern  Lights 

With  jewelled  feet  ascend  the  heavenly  heights; 

While  with  fantastic  shapes  they  haunt  the  brain,  — 

A  sky  of  amber  streaked  with  silver  rain  ; 

A  blaze  of  glory,  Heaven's  resplendent  fires  ; 

A  temple  gleaming  with  a  thousand  spires  ; 

A  sea  of  light  that  laves  a  shore  of  stars ; 

The  gates  of  Heaven,  swift-rolling,  fiery  cars; 

A  golden  pulse,  quick  beating  through  the  night ; 

Contending  armies  mailed  in  armor  bright ; 

A  gauzy  curtain  drawn  by  unseen  hands, 

Night's  gorgeous  drapery  looped  with  starry  bands ; 

Vast,  burning  cities,  that  lie  far  away  ; 

Blushes  on  Nature's  face  —  pale  ghosts  of  day  ; 

A  boundless  prairie  swept  by  phantom  fire ; 

The  vibrant  strings  of  some  gigantic  lyre  ; 

Emblazoned  chariots  ever  skyward  driven  ; 

God  writing  in  the  open  book  of  heaven  ; 


BEAUTY.  103 

The  flaming  banner  of  the  North  unfurled, 
The  mystery  above  a  wondering  world  ! 

Far  from  the  city's  din  a  spot  I  knew, 
Where  in  its  pride  a  stately  elm-tree  grew ; 
I  loved  it  well,  and  oft,  when  far  away, 
Weary  and  restless  with  the  toils  of  day, 
I  thought  of  it ;  I  saw  the  children  play 
Beneath  its  shade  ;  I  heard  their  shouts  of  joy, 
And  wished  —  vain  wish  !  —  I  was  again  a  boy. 
It  whispered  to  me  of  the  woods  and  streams  ; 
It  rustled  through  the  quiet  of  my  dreams, 
Making  the  night  Arcadia  :  ever  fair 
(Standing  with  giant  arms  outstretched  in  air) 
It  seemed  to  me  ;  whether  I  watched  the  Spring 
Touch  it  with  light  and  bloom,  or  Summer  fling 
Her  garlands  dark  and  dewy  o'er  its  form. 
That  nobly  braved  the  fury  of  the  storm, 
Or  Autunin  tinge  its  leaves  with  amber  dye, 


104  '  BEAUTY. 

Or  Winter  leave  its  branches  bare  and  high, 
Pencilled  like  veins  against  the  cold,  gray  sky, 
Or  wreathed  with  snow,  or  hung  with  icy  gems, 
Kissed  by  the  sun,  and  fit  for  diadems. 

Oh,  when  I  think  how  many  close  their  eyes 
To  all  the  beauty  that  around  them  lies. 
Dazzled  by  gold,  misled  by  fashion's  glare ; 
When  I  behold  the  pallid  brows  of  care 
That  ache  in  factory  rooms  from  dawn  till  night, 
Shut  out  from  every  pleasant  sound  and  sight ; 
And  when  I  read  with  shame  of  women  fair, 
In  crowded  cities,  driven  to  despair, 
Who  labor  night  and  day,  half  paid,  half  fed. 
While  little  children  cry  to  them  for  bread, — 
I  do  not  wonder  that  the  doors  of  sin 
Stand  open  wide,  and  thousands  enter  in  ! 


BE  A  UTY.  105 

A  sceptic  once,  for  treason  doomed  to  dwell 

Within  the  precincts  of  a  gloomy  cell,. 

\A'rote  on  his  dungeon  wall  these  words  of  scorn  : 

"All  things  in  nature  of  blind  Chance  were  born." 

The  changing  seasons  as  they  come  and  go 

With  varied  pomp ;  the  ocean's  ebb  and  flow  ; 

The  star-fires  burning  on  the  steeps  of  night, 

Unquenched  by  time  ;  the  floods  of  golden  light 

I'hat  flow  in  silence  from  the  fount  of  day, 

Unfettered  as  the  ages  roll  away, 

Baptizing  earth  and  heaven, — in  these  he  saw 

No  ruling  hand,  no  high  and  perfect  law. 

But  in  the  courtyard  as  he  walked  one  day. 

To  while  the  long  and  tedious  hours  away, 

A  little  plant  before  his  careless  sight, 

Lifting  its  tendrils  to  the  air  and  light. 

Spoke  to  the  captive's  soul ;  its  fragile  form 

He  sheltered  from  the  rude  wind  and  the  storm  ; 

And  as  beneath  the  gentle  rain  and  dew. 


I06  BE  A  UTV. 

In  strength,  and  grace,  and  symmetry  it  grew, 

Each  leaf  he  counted  on  the  mystic  tree, 

Till  it  became  to  him  Hope's  rosary. 

And  while  he  watched  the  swelling  buds  unfold 

Their  fragrant  leaves  of  purple  tinged  with  gold, 

Within  his  heart,  controlled  by  nobler  powers, 

The  buds  of  faith  bloomed  into  perfect  flowers  ; 

Till  with  new  light,  Creation  he  could  see, 

A  faultless  form,  whose  soul  was  Deity  ; 

And  Beauty's  image,  that  once  seemed  to  him 

A  far-off  shadow,  cold,  unreal,  dim, 

Rose  fair  and  luminous  before  his  eyes. 

As  if  an  angel  came  from  paradise. 

He  pressed  its  lips,  he  touched  its  peerless  form. 

And  like  Pygmalion's  statue,  it  was  warm. 

While  Beauty  comes  to  every  human  heart. 
And  lingers  there,  unwilling  to  depart, 
'I'oo  manv  own  her  not,  nor  heed  her  claim. 


BEAUTY.  107 

But  blindly  follow  some  ignoble  aim. 
Only  the  noblest  and  the  pure  of  earth 
Receive  her  as  a  child  of  heavenly  birth, 
An  angel  sent  from  some  diviner  sphere, 
To  walk  before  and  smooth  our  pathway  here. 
Think  of  that  fearless  soul,  immortal  Kane, 
The  new  Columbus  of  an  arctic  main  ! 
How  in  that  realm  of  everlasting  snow, 
Amid  the  dangers  of  the  treacherous  floe, 
While  Hunger's  ghastly  face  through  that  long  night 
Stared  with  its  haggard  eyes,  there  blessed  his  sight 
A  vision  of  the  stars,  that  filled  his  breast 
With  holy  fear  and  dreams  of  endless  rest. 
Think  how  he  watched  the  wild  flower  lift  its  head 
In  meek  surprise  from  out  its  frozen  bed. 
And  felt  that  there,  amid  eternal  ice, 
God  told  his  presence  by  that  fair  device. 
Two  guests  from  heaven    sustained    and  cheered   him 
there, 


I08  BE  A  UTY. 

The  angel  Beaut}^  and  her  sister,  Prayer. 
O  hero  spirit !  thou  didst  seek  no  fame, 
Yet  nations  bow  before  thy  sainted  name ; 
Thy  mission  here  was  filled,  thy  toils  are  o'er  ; 
No  sunless  winter  now,  no  barren  shore. 
But  light,  and  love,  and  beauty  evermore  ; 
For  thou  hast  found  at  last  that  "open  sea," 
The  boundless  waters  of  eternity. 

As  without  food  the  bod}'  must  decay, 

So  with  the  mind,  —  that,  too,  must  pine  away, 

Deprived  of  sustenance  it  ever  craves ; 

What  are  men  more  than  brutes  or  cringing  slaves, 

If  sense  and  appetite  alone  control 

Their  being  here  ?     Starvation  of  the  soul, 

In  Heaven's  impartial  sight,  is  worse  by  far 

Than  nature's  yearning  cries  of  hunger  are  ; 

For  though  death  claims  at  last  our  mortal  lives, 

We  do  not  die,  —  the  spirit  still  survives, 


BE  A  UTY. 

Dwells  evermore  in  some  diviner  sphere, 
More  radiant  than  that  which  holds  us  here  ; 
Whose  very  air,  and  light,  and  life  must  be 
Composed  of  beauty,  love,  and  purity. 

Life  may  be  sanctified  by  care  and  pain ; 

An  earthly  loss  may  be  a  heavenly  gain ; 

And  should  the  clouds  of  sorrow  o'er  us  meet, 

And  all  seem  dark  before  our  faltering  feet, 

The  angel  Beauty  walks  her  radiant  way : 

Oh,  follow  her  !     She  never  leads  astray  ; 

For  where  on  earth  her  fairy  feet  have  trod, 

We  trace  a  starry  pathway  up  to  God. 

How  many  kingly  spirits  hath  she  led  ! 

How  hath  she  loved  the  unforgotten  dead  ! 

She  dwelt  with  Shakspeare,  and  his  dome-like  brain 

Filled  all  the  world  with  one  melodious  strain ; 

She  stood  unveiled  before  great  ]\Iilton's  sight, 

And  thrilled  his  soul  with  visions  of  delight ; 


no  BEAUTY. 

And  when  God's  finger  touched  his  holy  eyes, 

She  turned  for  him  the  key  of  paradise  ; 

She  jDressed  her  Hps  on  Byron's  haughty  brow, 

And  swept  his  harp  with  songs  that  echo  now ; 

She  followed  Dante's  thorny  path  to  fame, 

And  bound  his  gloomy  brow  with  wreaths  of  flame  ; 

She  sang  to  Wordsworth,  crowned  with  wayside  flowers. 

And  woke  wn'thin  his  heart  immortal  powers  ; 

She  came  to  Shelley  on  the  skylark's  wing, 

And  in  the  crown  of  Burns,  the  peasant  king, 

She  twined  a  mountain  daisy,  wet  with  dew, 

And  he  was  numbered  with  the  deathless  few. 

And  if  with  prayer  and  praise  thy  heart  is  filled. 

Its  fever  cooled,  its  stormy  passions  stilled. 

If  thou  dost  catch  faint  glimpses  of  that  shore 

Where  sorrow  dies,  and  parting  is  no  more, 

And  thou  canst  almost  solve  death's  mystery, 

Oh,  then,  God's  handmaid,  Beauty,"dwells  with  thee! 


ODE    OF   WELCOME.  HI 


ODE  OF  WELCOME  TO  THE  SONS  AND 
DAUGHTERS  OF  PORTSMOUTH,  N.  H. 

At  the  Reunion,  July  4,  1873. 


HERE  robed  in  beauty  vale  and  upland  lie, 


T^i^M  ^'^'^'^^^  i"  tl^^  glory  of  this  summer  sky ; 
Where  evermore 
The  beat  of  ocean  on  the  rocky  shore 
Makes  music  wild  and  sweet; 
And  ever  free  the  fleet. 

Blue  river  winds  by  isle  and  bay  ; 
O  Brothers,  wandering  far  for  many  a  year, 
O  Sisters  dear, 
We  welcome  you  to-day ! 


112  ODE    OF   WELCOME. 

O  happy  bells,  ring  out ! 

Each  breast  resiDonsive  thrills  j 
Ye  valleys  and  ye  hills, 
Give  back  our  greeting-shout ! 
While  strains  of  sweetest  music  charm  the  air, 

And  starry  banners  float  in  skies  of  blue  ; 
And  blossoming  arch,  and  wreathed  column  bear 
The  heart's  endearing  language  warm  and  true. 

What  recollections  throng ; 
What  tender  thoughts  arise, 
As  here,  beneath  your  native  skies, 
Once  more  ye  stand  ! 
Here  live  the  echoes  of  your  cradle-song; 
This  is  the  fairy  realm  of  childhood's  time  ; 
Youth's  blest  Arcadian  clime  ; 
The  dream  of  manhood's  prime  ; 

The  shrine  of  age  ;  th'  Enchanted  Land, 
Ly  airs  of  memory  gently  fanned  ; 


ODE    OF    WELCOME.  II3 

The  clearest  spot  beneath  the  heaven's  blue  dome  ;  — 

This,  this  is  Home. 
Home,  with  its  streams  and  woods ; 
Its  cool,  green  solitudes 

In  sylvan  places ; 
Its  favorite  haunts  remembered  long  and  well  ; 
Home,  where  dear  kindred  dwell, 

And  friendly  faces 
Reflect  our  own  and  kindly  greeting  give  ; 
Where  many  a  loved  one  lies  in  dreamless  rest 
In  yonder  church-yard  by  the  moaning  wave  ; 

(Ah !  nevermore 

By  sea  or  shore, 
Shall  hand  in  hand  be  joined,  or  lip  to  lip  be  prest ; 
Still  they  are  with  us  here, 
We  feel  their  presence  near; 

They  speak  to  us,  and  soul  to  soul  replies 

For  love,  love  never  dies  ; 
Love  is  a  flower  that  evermore  shall  live ; 


114  ODE    OF   WELCOME. 

Of  heavenly  birth, 

It  knows  no  blight  of  earth, 
And  blossoms  even  on  the  dusty  grave  ; ) 
Home^  with  its  memories  sweet,  its  hopes,  its  fears. 
Its  gladness  and  its  tears. 

O  fair,  sweet  Mother,  cradled  by  the  Sea  ! 
Thy  w^andering  children  rest 
Once  more  upon  thy  breast 
Where  they  have  longed  to  be  ! 
Where'er  they  roamed,  beneath  what  alien  skies 

Their  lot  was  cast, 
Their  thoughts  still  turned  to  thee. 
And  homesick  tears  have  gathered  to  their  eyes  : 

Thou  wert  the  star  whose  ray 
Shone  o'er  the  dusky  j^athway  of  the  past, 

And  led  them  where  their  fondest  treasures  la^^ 

And  we  who  never  from  thy  side  have  strayed  ; 
Whose  hearts  to  thine  are  ever  closely  laid  ; 


ODE    OF   WELCOME.  I15 

In  thy  dear  name  we  welcome  them  again ; 
Our  hearts  go  out  to  meet  them  ; 
Our  hands  stretch  forth  to  greet  them  ; 
Our  lips  rehearse  once  more 
The  welcome-song  of  yore, 
And  answering  lips  repeat  the  joyful  strain. 
And  they,  thy  noble  sons. 
The  brave,  true-hearted  ones 

Who  fought  in  Freedom's  name, 
For  country  and  for  thee  ;  — 

Amid  this  festal  scene 
We  keep  their  memories  green  ; 
Whether  upon  the  blood-stained  field  they  fell, 
Or  where  the  battle-flame 
Lit  up  the  wreck  upon  the  heaving  sea ; 

Whether  they  languished  in  the  weary  cell. 
Or,  worn  with  pain,  they  turned  to  thee  for  rest, 
And  died  upon  thy  breast ; 

Where'er  for  us  they  perished 


ii6 


ODE    OF   WELCOME. 


Each  patriot  soul  is  cherished  ; 

Where'er  their  graves  are  found, 
To  us  'tis  hallowed  ground  ; 

And  there  on  each  returning  Spring 

The  sweetest  flow-ers  w^e  brinsr. 


O  Brothers,  wandering  far  for  many  a  year, 
O  Sisters  dear. 

In  this  our  glad  reunion 
Our  hearts  as  one  are  beating  ! 
One  joyous  impulse  every  breast  elates  ; 

And  though  the  parting  word  be  spoken, 
The  spell  shall  not  be  broken  ; 
The  warm  and  heartfelt  greeting, 
The  sweet  communion ; 
The  charm  that  rests  on  river,  sea  and  shore. 

The  hue  of  sky  and  plain  ; 
These,  in  the  mystic  wreath  that  Memory  twines. 
Shall  be  the  fadeless  flowers ; 


ODE    OF   WELCOME.  II J 

And  thoughts  of  these  glad  hours 
Shall  blend  with  visions  of  a  happier  sphere 
Than  that  which  holds  us  here ; 
A  summer  land  that  lieth  far  away; 
Where  late  or  soon 
Our  paths  shall  join  again 

Divided  nevermore. 
A  city  measured  with  the  golden  reed, 
Whose  walls  are  jasper,  and  wdiose  gates 
(Each  gate  a  pearl)  close  not  by  day, 
And  whose  foundations  broad 

With  precious  stones  are  bright ; 
A  home  that  hath  no  night. 
Nor  any  need 
Of  sun  or  moon, 
But  where  for  ever  shines 

The  glory  of  the  Lord. 


SONNETS. 


TO    T.  B.  A. 


HE  lapse  of  waters  in  dim  woods;  the  chime 
Of  distant  bells  ;  the  rustle  of  green  trees 
By  night  winds  stirred  ;  the  drowsy  hum  of  bees 
In  gardens  where  the  honeysuckles  climb ; 
The  cricket's  carol,  voiced  in  pulse-like  time ; 
The  symphony  of  rain-drops  on  the  roof,  — 
All  haunted  me  ;  yet  slumber  kept  aloof; 
Until  at  last,  O  friend,  thy  tuneful  rhyme 
Came  singing  through  the  dark,  as  I  have  heard 
In  autumn  twilights,  with  a  glad  surprise, 


120 


TO    T.    B.    A. 


The  sudden  note  of  some  belated  bird. 
Entranced  I  listened  to  thy  magic  strain, 
Till  soon  the  hovering  angel  touched  my  eyes 
And  in  sweet  dreams  I  heard  the  low  refrain. 


A    LOCK   OF  FARRAGUT'S  HAIR.  121 


ON    A   LOCK   OF   FARRAGUT'S    HAIR. 


^^^^ITHIX  this  crystal,  circled  with  fine  gold, 
I  keep  my  treasure  with  a  miser's  care ; 
A  silken  curl  of  silver-sprinkled  hair 
Cut  from  a  Hero's  brow ;  who,  strong  and  bold, 
Undaunted  stood  aloft  when  loudest  rolled 
The  ship's  live  battle-thunder  through  the  air ; 
All  things  for  Freedom  prompt  to  do  and  dare. 
As  noble  thou  as  any  knight  of  old 
Whose  lustrous  deed  Time  hath  not  overcast. 
Thine  was  the  victor's  crown,  the  wreath  of  fame, 
The  grateful  homage  paid  to  Freedom's  son  ;  — 
Thus  be  thy  memory  and  thy  honored  name 
Embalmed  within  the  heart  while  time  shall  last, 
With  those  of  Lincoln  and  of  Washington. 


122  TRAILING   ARBUTUS. 


^mm. 


TRAILING    ARBUTUS. 

EAR,  lovely  flower,  whose  fragrant  lips  unclose 
To  breathe  a  benediction  to  the  Spring, 
Soon  as  the  blue-bird  and  the  robin  sing ; 


Sweetest  and  best  that  in  the  woodland  grows ; 

Flushed  like  the  morn,  or  white  as  drifted  snows; 

I  love  thee  as  a  herald  of  the  hours 

That  bring  the  beauteous  train  of  forest  flowers, 

And  all  fair  things  God's  loving  hand  bestows. 

Eut  most  for  her  sweet  sake  who  held  thee  dear; 

Who,  in  glad  Springs,  roamed  with  me  hand  in  band 

These  mossy  paths  where  now  alone  I  stray  ; 

And  yet  whose  gentle  presence  seems  so  near, 

I  half  forget  her  angel  feet  to-day 

Walk  the  green  pastures  of  the  better  land. 


AFTER-BLOOM.  12. 


AFTER-BLOOM. 

WEET  winter  roses,  stainless  as  the  snow, 
As  was  thy  Hfe,  O  tender  heart  and  true  ! 
A  cross  of  lilies  that  our  tears  bedew, 
A  garland  of  the  fairest  flowers  that  grow. 
And  filled  with  fragrance  as  the  thought  of  thee, 
We  lay,  with  loving  hand,  upon  thy  breast, 
Wrapt  in  the  calm  of  Death's  great  mystery ; 
Ours  still  to  feel  the  pain,  the  unlanguaged  woe, 
The  bitter  sense  of  loss,  the  vague  unrest, 
And  wear  unseen  the  cypress-leaf  and  rue. 
Thinking,  the  while,  of  lovelier  flowers  that  blow 
In  everlasting  gardens  of  the  blest. 
That  wither  not  like  these,  and  never  shed 
Their  rare  and  heavenly  odors  for  the  dead. 


124  ASLEEP, 


ASLEEP. 


^ALF  veiled  by  the  delaying  twilight,  lies 

Each  happy  child.     On  eyes  divinely  blue 
Slumber  has  fallen  gently  as  the  dew 
On  sleeping  flowers.     Beneath  the  open  skies, 
As  careless  as  the  tinselled  butterflies. 
For  them  the  long  June  day  too  quickly  fled. 
O  kindred  angels,  linger  near  and  spread 
Your  sheltering  pinions  !     Ere  the  faint  light  dies, 
And  fades  the  lovely  vision  from  the  sight,  — 
The  pillowed  beauty  and  the  perfect  rest,  — 
Would  that  some  Raphael  might  the  picture  limn. 
Too  late  !  the  shadows  deepen  into  night ; 
And  thinking  such  as  these  the  dear  Christ  blessed. 
With  thankful  love  our  hearts  go  out  to  Him. 


TO  y.  G.  IV.  125 


TO    J.  G.  W. 

HE  world  is  wanting  in  great  souls  like  thine, 
For  thou  art  one,  unheeding  scorn  and  blame, 
Who  dares  to  battle  in  dear  Freedom's  name. 
As  if  thy  heart  was  mailed  with  power  divine. 
Thou  art  a  hater  of  all  human  wrong. 
And  thy  barbed  thoughts  at  Tyranny  are  hurled. 
Thou  break'st  the  silence  of  the  slumbering  world. 
With  sounding  notes  of  deep  and  burning  song, 
Unnendng  arms  that  wield  Oppression's  rod ; 
Or  with  the  music  of  some  gentler  strain. 
Thou  steal'st  from  life  its  weariness  and  pain. 
O  Poet !  thou  hast  gained  the  smile  of  God, 
And  won  on  earth  a  high  and  star-like  name, 
To  shine  for  ever  in  the  skv  of  Fame. 


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